Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Stolen	By : squirrelchaser Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 13305 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Stolen
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-11
- 2
- 3
- 4
I
started to tremble in anger. He had no right!
He
watched me for long moments, simply staring at me until my flesh started to
crawl and my anger ebbed away, to be replaced by nauseating fear. He rose from
his chair and came slowly toward me, as I backed away until I was against the
wall.
�Stay
away,� I whispered, too frightened to flee or struggle.
Sauron
came and stood before me, a breadth away. �No.� He placed a hand on my
shoulder. �Come to bed.�
�I
will not!� I said, though my voice was small and frightened rather than strong.
�Yes,
you will.� His voice was soft, almost gentle, as if he were persuading me to do
something that was to my benefit.
My
knees were trembling so that I began to sink to the floor, and he caught me up
and took me to the bed. �No,� I whimpered, but he took no notice of my
protests.
�Hush,�
he said, and slid off the black wrap I wore. He began to stroke my body, kneading
the muscles and fondling but I stiffened and began to shake, so frightened that
my skin seemed to cringe away from his very touch. �It shall be easier for you
if you accept,� he told me.
�No,�
I said.
One
hand crept between my legs and explored, leisurely. I bit my lips, turning my
face away and going as numb as possible to try and forget what was happening.
�Relax,�
came a soft breath at my ear, as two slick fingers were
pushed into me.
I
shifted my hips to try and squirm away from the unwelcome invasion, but I could
feel him atop my body as he knelt on the bed, straddling me. I was trapped as
he shed the layers of black satin and tinkling mithril
and tossed them to the floor.
His
body was fair and lean, his face impassive, the penis between his legs was
rigid and full, protruding from his body and ready for mine. Involuntarily my
thighs clenched and my muscles tensed around his fingers.
�Hush, Legolas,� he murmured, as if he were
soothing me. His thumb swept up and over my lax genitals and he began to whisper
to me as if we were lovers. �Will you not let me pleasure you, give me the
satisfaction of seeing your head fall back as you cry out?�
I
could not imagine taking pleasure from him.
�So
tight, sweet, sweet virgin,� he murmured, and I turned my face away as his
mouth dipped low so his words tickled and taunted my ear.
The
fingers left my body and he raised my knees. For the briefest of moments there
was heat pressing against me, and then there was pain. I swallowed a scream but
choked, keeping my eyes shut against my torturer as he pressed me down until
his entire body was flush against mine, his own groin a hard blaze of heat to
juxtapose my unwilling and soft body.
He
soothed, sang, held me still until my muscles could not clench in protest
anymore and I went limp. I heard him breathing long and deep as he began to
thrust, holding my hips to manipulate them to his greatest pleasure as he
ground deep inside me, pushing to the hilt and twisting against me. In time,
his thrusts became more deep and urgent, his breath began to come in quick grunts
and gasps until, at long last, his penis trembled inside me and he groaned,
then it was over and he fell against me, shuddering and sighing.
He
rolled off of me and I lowered my stiff legs, glad it was over for I ached in
both body and soul. I closed my eyes and wished for nothing more than to die,
then and there, and rest in Mandos� care. But instead
I felt him pick me up and carry me to the bathroom, where he washed the blood
from my torn and abused body, and return me to the room of soft greens and browns
of home.
The
first week I did not eat, but lay and mourned for all that I had lost: my Adar,
my youth, my body, my innocence.
Every
evening he took me to his room and used me for his purposes. The second night
it hurt even worse than the first, so badly I felt as if my body had curled up
and turned in on itself. I bled even more and wept as he took me. It was made
worse when he wiped away my tears and spoke softly to me.
This
continued for months, until I began to feel heavy and knew, intuitively, that I
carried a child. Then he left me to Elian�s care and I did not see him often
until later, when I was to give birth.
I
was glad to be left alone. I wandered the fortress and thought of better,
happier times, remembered the trees and the sunlight and the birds. It was
always dark inside, there were no windows and I was not allowed outside for
fear I should overcome my captors and escape.
To
pass the time and forget, I took to sleeping as often and as long as possible.
Instead of finding rest in waking thoughts to stay refreshed I lay in bed and
closed my eyes, sleeping as mortal men do every night instead of every moon or
so.
During
waking it was lonely, for there was no one I could talk to. The orcs did naught but sneer and I found their company too
crude for comfort. There were men and women who served the Dark Lord, but they
were meek and skittish, like deer that were being hunted.
The
one time I was foolish enough to wander down a long stair way into the bowels
of the earth was the time I found the wargs,
werewolves, and other horrible creatures bent to the Dark Lord�s service. I
took in the spikey hairs and protruding teeth along
the muzzle of a grizzly looking warg, thinking to
myself, This is the Dark Lord�s answer to the horse and the dog, once good creatures
that he has tainted and misshapen, just like the orcs
that bow in his service.
Then
I caught a glance of myself in a shield that was propped up against the wall,
and in the dull light I saw an elf whose middle was growing slack and round, a
fertile ground for the Dark Lord�s spawn. A Mirkwood elf who,
until a few months ago, had been a carefree and innocent child, but was now
trapped into the enchanted body of an adult.
The
only place where I found comfort were the wine cellars, with their great barrels
lined up in long rows with all the taps facing the middle. It reminded me of
Adar for he loved good wine, and it reminded me of how I used to dart in and
out between the barrels and he would pretend that he could not find me. The
scent was nearly the same, that of damp cool earth mingling with the fruity
tones of the wine, and if I closed my eyes and ran my fingertips across the
dirt floor it felt nearly the same as home. I spent much time in the cool
cellar singing softly the songs Adar used to sing to me and watching the mice
skitter in and out, watching me in turn with large bright eyes.
Gradually
the mice became accustomed to my presence and drew nearer, drawn by bits of
bread that I would bring. At first they crept up to the morsel, snatched it from
my fingertips, and fled to eat it out of sight but in time they grew brave
enough to be caught up in my hand. Then they would scamper over my growing
belly, perch on my knee and wash themselves with delicate forepaws.
I
drew great comfort in these little scraps of life, with their gossamer whiskers
and soft fur. My favorite was a little female mouse, with a soft pearly grey
coat, a white underbelly, pink paws and tail, white whiskers, and liquid black
eyes. Sometimes, even after I left the cellar, I would find her curled up
asleep in my pocket.
I
used the mice, my misery, my memories to escape my
reality and forget about the baby that was growing inside of me. At first I had
steeled myself to hate it, to not give it a name and to ignore it once it was
born. But it grew, it was part of me, and from the first time he moved within I
felt him and wept. I was torn, for my first son is the culmination of the
greatest love and the bitterest hate I had ever tasted in my entire life.
Alone
in my room one afternoon, I was singing when I felt a flutter inside my body.
It was the strangest feeling in the world and I gasped and fell silent. The
movement stopped.
Deciding
it was my imagination I began to sing again, and the fluttering began anew. I
then realized: the baby knew my voice. My hardened heart broke for the first
delight I had felt in months. I wanted so desperately to share this with
someone, someone who cared and understood my joy, and the only one I had to
share it with was the small grey mouse who licked the salty tears from my face.
I
loved that baby from the first time he moved, and as he grew I could discern a
foot kicking, a hand padding up against my side. The baby was active, alive,
turning over and over and dancing within me. Against my will I began to imagine
him once he was born (for I was certain it was a he): vibrant, good, lit with
sunlight from within, and I promised myself I would find a way to take him with
me from this evil place.
My
body had changed since conception and these changes, I knew, made escape
impossible until after birth. As I grew heavier I ached more and my hips gave
me great discomfort. Standing became blatantly painful, and the week
predicating birth was spent lying on my side.
My
nipples grew darker and tender and the area around them swelled and was soft to
the touch. While dozing, I suddenly felt a rush in my chest and looked sleepily
down at my tunic. The black fabric clung to me, dampened and clinging to the
peaks. Curious, I peeled back the cloth and drew my first finger and thumb over
my skin to gently pinch and roll one nipple, and watched in amazement as a
white drop oozed from the tip.
The
baby will come soon, I thought, and the realization that I could nurture and
support my offspring pleased me. Discovery of little changes like this gave me
small bits of happiness, and I horded these moments away for myself.
Early
one morning I lay in bed, on my side and half asleep when I felt my body twinge.
There was a snip, like a thread pulled taunt and cut with a knife, and clear
fluid began to flow from my body. I lifted my head and glanced around the
darkened room. I did not know what to do, or if I should call out to anyone. No
one had ever spoken to me of the technicalities of having babies, or for that
matter the issues involved with love or sex. Perhaps, I figured, it was
completely normal to be gushing liquid when one was pregnant.
When
the wettest seemed to be over, I pulled off the sodden tunic I wore and tossed
it over the edge of the bed. It landed with a wet slop, and I rolled over to
the other side of the bed where the mattress and sheets were still dry and let
my mind drift away again.
Later
the pains started, first a series of dull aches that grew into sharp spasms
that tightened around my stomach until I could scarcely draw breath. I placed
my hands on my stomach and felt the mound grow impossibly hard as each wave of
pain crested and broke.
He
shall be birthed before this time next morning, I thought, and wondered what
would happen.
Elian
came with a breakfast tray, which she set down in a hurry when she saw me in
the bed.
�Please
take it away,� was all I could think to say, for I did not know what to tell
her what was happening or what to do. �The smell of food makes my stomach turn
right now.�
Her
rapid footsteps faded down the hall, but she soon returned with another woman I
had never seen before. This new woman was small and plump, with graying hair in
a bun at the base of her neck, and with clever looking hands. Her eyes were
bright and her face was different: it did not look cold and haunted like the
rest of the men and woman who served the Dark Lord.
Sauron
came up the passage way behind the two and the little plump woman started,
jumping away from the door and sweeping toward the bed with little clicky steps.
�Can
you help him?� Sauron�s voice was as cool and
deceivingly benign as ever.
The
woman stared, then turned her face away. Her eyes were
round and frightened, and she did not answer.
I
was not surprised. No one could look for too long into the face of the Dark
Lord.
Sauron
left.
�Can
you help him?� Elian asked, as the little woman began to breathe again.
The
woman seemed to take no notice of me though it was my body she was to inspect. �Now
just a second, and let me take a look,� she said, as she lifted the blanket to
peek under. �Oh, my,� she said, dropping the blanket and straightening to stare
at Elian, then me. �I have never seen or dealt with anything like it,� she
informed her, fidgeting, and her voice moving to the edge of fury. �But as you
have brought me here in the earliest of the morning by your monstrous servants,
I suppose I could not possibly refuse?� The woman pursed her mouth, looking
something between annoyed and frightened. �Bring blankets, string, a small
sharp knife, and a bottle of your strongest whiskey.�
�You-� I began, before my belly grew hard and I was forced to
wait until the pain receded again. �You do not intend to drink it, do you?� I
whispered, turning my head to face her.
�Not
at all,� she said briskly then stopped and eyed me closely, surprise crossing
her features. �You are elf kind.�
�Out
of Mirkwood,� I told her. Stolen out of Mirkwood, I thought to myself.
The
midwife stopped cold. �Poor elf,� she said softly, and her entire demeanor
changed. �My village used to trade with your elves from Mirkwood. Your King was
very generous in his dealings.�
My
heart opened to her, for she was unlike any other I had encountered. �My
father,� I told her, and she shook her head and brushed one hand over my
forehead.
Her
kindness made the hours to come bearable when the pains became worse,
especially when she had me move and kneel against the bed frame to push. It
hurt terribly, and soon I began to tire
�I
cannot do this,� I complained, head falling forward onto my arms.
�You
can,� the mid wife told me gently but firmly. �When your stomach becomes hard
and the pain grows stronger, push as hard as you can.�
We
continued at a slower pace after that, which made the pain change from sharp to
a steady burning sensation, but I did not have much of a choice but to continue
at this pace or collapse. For that matter, I did not have much of a choice in
many things, and the realization of this drove me harder.
I
pushed, groaned, then cried out in distress as the head birthed and my body
strained to accommodate its passage. With a final tug from the mid wife it was
over, and my insides felt very empty. In relief I moaned and sank gratefully to
the bed, turning on my side.
�It
is a son!� the midwife cried, laying a squalling, squirming baby with curling
limbs and tiny fists beside me.
He
felt very small and very warm. If I tried I am sure I could have spanned his
little waist with my hands, but instead I took him in the crook of my arm and
held him against my side. �Hello,� I said softly, and he turned his face
slightly and stopped crying.
Sauron�s voice came from the doorway. �You say it is
a male?�
The
little woman started and looked up at him and her face became hard with a trace
of fear. �Yes, it is a son,� she said succinctly, biting her words off curtly
and turning back to her work.
The
Dark Lord left again.
�What
shall you name him?� the midwife turned to me, and she was smiling.
Taken
aback I confessed guiltily, �I had not given it any thought.�
�But
you shall be a good�father,� she reassured me.
�I
think� I think I shall name him for my own father, my Adar, who passed shortly
after the ruin in Mirkwood,� I said softly.
I
named him Thranduil but that would be my private name for him and no one else
in the Dark Lord�s realm knew of it. Sauron named him something in Black Speech
that I refused to acknowledge.
The
midwife, however, did not ever leave the clutches of the dark fortress. Sauron
was afraid of word leaking out, perhaps, and thought she had seen too much to
be let go. I found out much later that he had her slain.
TBC
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